something real
by vivafiction
Summary: it was hard for her to find something tangible and real, until she buried her hatred in a garden one rainy day -— katara & zuko. s3, the southern raiders.


**title** — something real  
**pairing** — katara & zuko  
**warnings** — none  
**etc** — i didn't know there was a challenge tied to this, i just wanted to try it. what is grammar, you guys.

…

**i. blood**— _what a problem this weakness is_  
She forgets he is a human thing, with webs of veins and stretches of weak skin meant to protect too many vital things, with blood trickling from the sharp water wound on his cheek, with eyes that pierce through her with hurt and betrayal and intentions to wound in their own ways.

**ii. creation**—_the origins of firebending_  
His fire churns inside of him, lines the force of his chi around his body, sparks in his eyes and his fingertips and coils around his body protectively, and when Katara focuses on his meditation, she thinks she can see the moment it ignites a powerful, calming surge of warmth in his chest.

**iii. memory**—_take me back to where it all began_  
"I just want to talk," and as she throws her hand forward to slap him, he catches her wrist with thin heated brands of fingers, and she is surprised that his brow doesn't bend in contempt and deviancy, that he isn't smirking some futile rescue plan into the pores of her skin with this unrelenting grip on her wrists.

**iv. farewell**—_somebody that i used to know_  
She curls up in the saddle and lets him guide them home, tears streaking down her cheeks and the wind twirling her hair comfortingly, and she prepares to leave her hatred of the boy who'd chased her around the world in the muddy, tilled soil of Yon Rha's garden.

**v. jewel**—_a single treasured moment_  
Zuko slips out of his uncle's tent and approaches her, even though she should be trying to catch a sliver of sleep as it passes her by, or occupy herself somehow; but he bends down to her face, pushes his lips gently against hers with a grateful smile, and when he leans back to apologize for it, she thinks this is one of those rare, sparkling moments that she will always remember.

**vi. ribbon**—_something to remember her by_  
He rubs his fingers across her necklace when he thinks she's asleep, with her head propped on his shoulder, but when her eyes pop open, he looks suspicious and guilty and surprisingly sad, so she doesn't ask.

**vii. rockslide**—_look out below, the truth is coming_  
Katara comes to the startingly realization in the middle of her dinner, suddenly robbed of breath because this new feeling buries her, crushes her under the weight of its abruptness, and no one takes note as she struggles to fight out from underneath the shock that she might actually have _feelings_ for her friend, the Prince.

**viii. heartache**—_pain that cannot be explained_  
It seizes her chest and it feels like her ribcage is closing around her heart when she all but slams her hands down onto his chest, filters water into the tears of delicate skin and ignores the dizziness in her head, chokes on a sob when his face scrunches up in pain and his eyes open, and like a deep, shuddering breath, that grip releases its hold.

**ix. red**—_the color of her cheeks_  
It would have been wise if she'd stayed behind the curtains, but she stumbles into the room with an uneasy smile, eyes honed in on pale fingers tucked against Zuko's chest, and the tension is so heavy that she just wants to drop onto her knees and crawl her way out of the room, and Mai's gaze is serrated as she eyes the waterbender in the doorway, "I just wanted to see if you need any help."

**x. taint**—_non-virtuous, troublesome things_  
Something has infected her because she was _never_ like this, but she doesn't think she can stand to watch another girl lift up to kiss those pale lips, and when she finds her lips pressed against a shy cheek, something warm and malevolent like jealousy is stamped out by satisfaction, because he'd have never tilted his head away from _her_.

**xi. combat**—_some things are worth it_  
"If I win," she throws her fist forward, misses by a fraction of an inch, but raises her knee into his chest and watches his collapse with a grin, "then I get to stay," because she wants to stay here with him, she'll fight until he makes her black out, and he grins anyway, fights anyway, forfeits anyway.

**xii. ****nails**—_your body is my temple_  
His face ripples from a myriad of sensations when she pulls her nails down his back; she smiles into his mouth as he tips her onto her back, hair pressed into his sheets, body a perfectly abnormal fit into hers, and she traces the crescents on his spine to remind her that everything is _real_.**  
**

**xiii. ****pulse**—_yours has become my heartbeat_  
Tears drip down into her collarbone as she blasts his chamber doors apart, tsunami waves of water splashing around her, prepared to freeze any other offenders to the wall, when she sees them all splayed on the floor, Zuko sitting in the center of his bed raking his hair back into neat array, and Katara throws herself at him, drenched and sobbing and grateful that he is startled, and not slain.

**xiv. mercy**—_there are some fights where loss is favorable_  
"I can't _breathe_," tears cling in the corner of her eyes and she rolls onto her back, trying to escape, but Zuko's hands are too big, his fingers too feather-light against her bare stomach, and she's certain that he will tickle her until she passes out, her limbs trapped under his and his eyes glinting in amusement and adoration.

**xv. quiet**—_how to break the news in five words or less_  
She's not tactful, because he winds his arms around her waist and buries his nose into her hair, and when he flattens his palms against her stomach, she whispers, "There's a _baby_ in there."

**xvi. past**—_these things will always haunt me_  
The lines of his face are creased with worry and Katara wants to draw him into a hug, but her stomach is starting to push distance between them, so she tries to soothe his worries with her words, with assurances that their child will not hate him for his past, for _their_ past, and that there is nothing to look back on—only things to look forward to.

**xvii. mirror**—_just don't let me see_  
The ache doesn't fade because Katara wants to carry something around with her in the pit of her stomach, because she's not ready to face this possibility of loss with hollowed sky eyes and wooden pale skin, because she's not _strong_ enough to stare into a reflection where she may have to stand alone.

**xviii. iridescent**—_a simple birth_  
Katara thinks her aura is a colorful, changing thing as she cups her hands around the round face of her daughter, who whines and squirms and hiccups and is a living, breathing thing; Zuko stands at her side, smiling, basking in the glow of this beautiful moment, at peace through the trouble they've gone through.

**xix. blur**—_i'm having visions_  
Year one passes so rapidly, cycling through firsts—smiles and laughs and steps and words and hugs—and Katara doesn't remember anything other than the smear of happiness she's felt since her daughter was born, and the way her hand swipes across her name on the cake, the letters incoherent.

**xx. wrong**—_who wants to be right?_  
Chaos is what she expects, heartache and pain and arguments and longing to escape, and she'd launched into this relationship fighting for a place with him, protecting him and crying, and giving him everything, and she'd have never thought it'd pay off—and she's glad.

…

**notes**—thanks to **tee** and **shannon** for giving me these words because i am illiterate. sorry if this makes no sense, it's very jumpy and i wanted to try out a new(ish) style.


End file.
